


Carth's Blaster

by ryl00



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-21
Updated: 2009-10-30
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryl00/pseuds/ryl00
Summary: KOTOR LSM Revan. On Manaan, Mission accidentally loses Carth's blaster and enlists Bastila's aid to help her get it back. [Originally posted to FFN in 2009]





	1. Chapter 1

Mission’s announcement stunned Bastila.

“You... lost... Carth's... blaster?” the Jedi repeated in shock.

“Well, he shouldn't have left it behind in the first place,” Mission replied with a trace of indignation.

“You... _lost_... Carth's... blaster?!”

Bastila was starting to look a little scary.  “Jedi control, Bastila,” Mission reminded her.  “Jedi control.”

“Mission!”

“I know, I know… he’s going to kill me!”  The Twi’lek joined the Jedi down on the floor of her room aboard the _Ebon Hawk_ , where she’d been meditating before Mission had interrupted her.  “Please, you have to help me!”

“What happened?”

“I already told you—“

“No, no… details, details.”

“Oh.  Well, I was rooting around the ship and found where Carth keeps all his stuff.”  Bastila glared at her at this.  “What?  Why are you looking at me that way?  I’m just a naturally curious person, that’s all!

“Anyway, when I found his blaster, I suddenly had a great idea.  You know how he’s always complaining that he needs to upgrade the scope, but he somehow never finds the time to do it?  Well, it just so happens I know this merchant, Yigelsa, over in west Ahto, who can fit a very nice scope onto a blaster for a great price.  I thought it’d be great to surprise him with it.”

“Very considerate of you, Mission.  We’ve only been on Manaan a few days now; how is it possible that you know this much about it already?”

“I get around.  It beats sulking about the ship when you get ditched by the others.”

“I am not _sulking_ , Mission.  And we were not _ditched_.  While the others are investigating Hrakert Rift, someone has to be responsible, and stay with the ship, while apparently the other is out gallivanting around losing her friends’ prized possessions.”

“Gallivanting around?  Hey, I’m gathering important information here.  Contacts, gossip, rumors, intel.  It’s a sight more useful than moping on the ship, mooning after—“

Bastila sniffed in indignation.  “I am not _moping_ , nor am I _mooning_ after anyone.  I was meditating.  It is an important daily routine for us Jedi.”

 “So why don’t I see Enosh meditating more?  He doesn’t seem the worse for it.”

“He’s—he’s just different in how he approaches things.”

“He’s _different_.  I understand you, Bas.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?  Are you trying to infer something?”

“Of course not.  I’m just a kid, remember?  Now can we get back to our problem?”

“ _Our_ \--?”

“Anyway, I also had an old Arkanian blaster I wanted to sell, so I figured I could do both while you and T3 guarded the ship.  But on the way to Yigelsa’s place, I see this punk Rodian kid, claiming he’s some hotshot Pazaak player. Of course, I didn't believe it for one second... this kid looks like he just got weaned!  I knew he or his handlers must be pulling some sort of scam, fishing for gullible marks in the streets.”

“My head is starting to hurt.”

“So I thought I'd teach this nerfherder a lesson or two about Pazaak.  I didn’t have enough credits on me to meet this kid’s minimum pot, so I put up the blaster I was going to sell as my wager.  And… uh, I lost,” she finished sheepishly.  “Turns out he’s legitimate.”

“Has anyone talked to you about your gambling?”

“No, but I have a feeling it’s about to happen very soon now.  Hey, Enosh does it, too!” she protested to Bastila’s stare.

“Yes, well, I’ve already spoken to Enosh about this on more than one occasion,” Bastila replied frostily.

“Great!  Look, why don’t you save the lecture until he’s back, and you can give it to the both of us together and save yourself some duplication.  Now can we get back to our problem please?”

“ _Our_ problem?”

“I put the wrong blaster in the pot.  It’s not my fault; Carth’s blaster looks just like a stock Arkanian blaster on the outside, aside from that family symbol that you can barely see because it’s faded so much.  Hmmm… maybe Yigelsa can do something to fix that; I’ll have to ask her later.  Anyway, I didn’t find out until later, when I went to Yigelsa’s, that I’d got the blasters switched.  So I hurried back and tracked down that Rodian, only to find out the little schutta had already sold Carth’s blaster to someone!  A merchant named Thelgarn, who runs a weapons store over in east Ahto, right next to the Sith embassy.”

“So?  Did you go see this Thelgarn?”

“Not really.  When I went inside, it was packed with Sith soldiers, doing their shopping or something.  He spotted me and yelled at me to get out.”  She sighed.  “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.  Knowing how much these merchants mark up their merchandise, I couldn’t afford to buy back Carth’s blaster anyway.

“That’s it.  That’s the end of my story.  So, are you ready to help me?”

“Help you?”

“Yes!  Help me get it back!”

“Mission, I think the best course of action is to wait for the others to return.”

“But then Carth will know I lost it!  He’ll think I’m irresponsible!”

“And exactly how would that be inaccurate?”

“Besides, who knows how long it will take for the others to get back from that undersea station?  If we wait for them to come back, Thelgarn might sell Carth’s blaster to someone else!  You wouldn’t want to be responsible for losing Carth’s blaster, would you, Bas?”

“Me?  Mission, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Here I am, all prepared to retrieve Carth’s blaster, and here you are, dragging your feet, all content to sit here and ‘meditate’ while some smelly Gamorrean buys Carth’s blaster and takes it all the way to Gamorr.  Carth will hate me forever, and it’ll all be _your_ fault! Thanks for turning your back on a friend in need, Bastila!  I’ll be sure to pay back the favor sometime!”

“Mission!  I am not ‘turning my back’ on you!  And please stop being so dramatic!  Let’s be calm and reasonable here.  You’ve already admitted that you can’t afford to buy back Carth’s blaster, which obviously means that whatever you’re thinking about is dangerous.  However, the others have enough credits to buy back Carth’s blaster.  It’s the safest, simplest solution.”

“As long as someone else doesn’t buy it.”

“Highly unlikely.”

“Oh, I understand.”

“Understand?  Understand what?”

“And here I thought you were different.  Someone to look up to.  A role model.”

“Mission, what ever are you talking about?”

“Too afraid to do anything by yourself, huh?  Not used to making decisions on your own?”

“That’s a ridiculous conclusion to make, Mission, and also a very transparent attempt to—“

“No, no, it’s okay, I understand.  We’ll just wait here nice and quiet like the little girls we are, pull out our knitting, and wait for the big strong guys to come back and fix our problem for us.”

“ _Our_?  When did this become _our_ problem?  And I am not some indecisive, helpless—“

“That’s the spirit, Bas!” Mission jumped up to her feet.  “Come on, I’ve got a plan!”

Bastila remained seated.  “I’m sorry, Mission, but I think we should wait for the others.”

Mission dropped back to the floor, kneeling before the seated Jedi.  “Bas—Bastila… please!  Please!  You have to help me.  I know I’ve made a mistake, but I also know that I can make amends.”

“I’m sure you _think_ you can, but—“

“Please, Bastila!  I’m—I’m just a kid.  Do you want to see me beg?  Cry?”

“Of course not, Mission.  I’m not heartless, no matter what everyone else aboard this ship thinks.  I just think it would be safest—“

A tear leaked out.

“Mission, please.  This isn’t worth—“

Another tear followed.

“It isn’t worth it to get so, so—“

Mission’s lower lip began to tremble.

“Well—well, I guess… it couldn’t hurt to _try_ —“

Bastila was suddenly caught up in an enthusiastic hug from the Twi’lek.  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Bastila!  I take back all the mean things I’ve said about you behind your back, every single one of them!”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t mind me, just kidding!” Mission smiled.

“One condition, Mission.”

“What’s that?”

“After all this is said and done, you have to tell Carth the truth about what happened.”

“But—but what does it matter, if we get his blaster back?”

“Mission!  This is non-negotiable.”

“But I don’t understand—fine, okay, okay.  I will tell Carth the truth about what happened.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mission’s plan was simple.  Bastila would pretend to be a noble lady interested in buying some equipment from Thelgarn.  Mission would be her faithful servant, who would switch Carth’s blaster with the other one while the merchant was busy with Bastila.

But first Bastila had to look the part, and that proved to be more work than Mission had anticipated.

“Of course I’m bringing my lightsaber!” Bastila protested.

“Why?  Is there a rule or something?  Will the Council write it up in your permanent records if they find out about it?  Noble ladies don’t go running around with lethal weaponry attached to their fashionable belts… it would just be so _hard_ to accessorize.”

“This establishment is dangerously near the Sith compound,” Bastila replied, ignoring Mission’s sarcasm.  “I wouldn’t feel safe without my lightsaber.”

“Fine, okay, I guess we can try and hide it,” the Twi’lek relented.  Personally, she felt the risk of detection outweighed any benefit of being armed, but if that was what it took to soothe the Jedi’s psyche… “And speaking of that… are these all the clothes you have?”

“Yes.  What’s the matter?”

The matter was that her paltry wardrobe screamed either _Back off, or you’ll lose that finger!_ or _Hey Sith, I’m a Jedi!_ (and frequently both simultaneously).  The only safe choice appeared to be having her wear a hooded robe (picked up in Taris to disguise her from the Sith patrols there) over the least objectionable dress.  Not exactly an attention grabber (the colors were drab brown and gray), but at least the material was good.  Perhaps Mission could play up the ‘disguised noble’ angle to cover it, if she needed to.

“No, just checking.  I think these will work.  Now the hair.”

“The hair?”

“Yes.  I’m sure your braids work fine while you’re hacking away at some Sith, but we’ll have to make things a little softer for our noble lady.”

Mission pulled the bindings off, then teased the hair out into some semblance of order.

“Very presentable,” the Twi’lek said after a little effort.  “And now, my lady, your jewels!”

She pulled some costume jewelry out of one of her bags and went about finishing Bastila’s disguise.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, giving the Jedi a hand mirror.

Bastila looked over herself critically.  “But how am I supposed to portray this arrogant, imperious, demanding noble?” she finally asked.

“Uh, I think you’ll find a way to pull it off,” Mission replied with a straight face.

And now, steps outside Thelgarn’s shop, it was time for the last piece.

“Here, Bas, I forgot to add this.”  And Mission pulled out a radiantly sparkling necklace from a pocket and started to put it around Bastila’s neck.

“Wait, what’s this, Mission?” she asked, backing away to take a look.

“Just another piece of costume jewelry,” the Twi’lek said hurriedly.

“Costume jewelry?” the Jedi asked, fingering the sparkling gems.  “What do you take me for, an oblivious fool?”

“Only occasionally.”

“This is priceless!” Bastila continued, ignoring Mission’s response.  “Where did you get it from?”

“I’m telling you, it’s just a piece of costume jewelry.  Well-designed, but fake nevertheless.  It’s a good thing you’re not in the jewelry business.”

“Mission!”

“Oh, all right!”  Everything had been going so smoothly up to this point; why did Bastila have to pick _now_ of all times to suddenly become perceptive?  “I, uh, found this in Davik Kang’s estate, while we were there as his guests,” she said, as Bastila put it back in the Twi’lek’s hands.

“Found?”

“Found… maybe swiped…”

“Mission!”

“How do you always manage to put so much inflection into that single word?”

“You have to return this to its rightful owner!”

“Davik Kang?  He won’t be needing it any more, remember?  And neither will any of the other thugs, thieves, and murderers who used to own this—they’re all dead, too.”

“Were you ever planning on telling anyone about this?”

“You mean Enosh?  Of course, if we needed the credits.  But he’s not hurting for funds right now.  And a girl’s got to eat, you know.

“Hey, don’t look at me that way!  It’s easy to be so judgmental when you’re a high-and-mighty Jedi, what with the Jedi Council footing your bills and all.  I bet you even have a pension!  The rest of us have to struggle and scrap for every last credit.”

“The Jedi way is not a path to riches, Mission.  We receive a small stipend periodically, enough to cover our basic needs.  And—and frankly, old age is a luxury most of us will never see.  But that’s beside the point.  You told me you didn’t have the credits to buy back Carth’s blaster.  But all this time you’ve had this in your possession!”

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not that easy, Bastila.  Do you seriously think I’d let a little greed get in the way of my friends?

“Before you answer that,” she continued hurriedly, “let me explain.  Something like this, you can’t just unload at your local jewelry store.  Just showing this to someone would bring out a lot of suspicion, especially if you’re just a Twi’lek girl like me.  The wrong sorts of people would get the wrong sorts of ideas, and before you can say ‘bantha poodoo’ every thug on the street would be shadowing me, looking to relieve me of this.”

“But this is Manaan!  The Selkath keep a tight rein on things here.”

“Even more problems!  Throw in the local law enforcement, wondering how a girl like me got her hands on a necklace like this.”

“Okay, okay,” relented Bastila.  “But then what’s the point of using it now?”

Mission put it around Bastila’s neck.  “A noble lady needs to have a little proof to flaunt that she’s got the credits to match the title.”

* * *

Thelgarn saw the Gamorrean to the door.

“Come again any time,” he called out, waving to the departing Gamorrean as he tested the feel of his new vibroblade by taking a few swings in the air.  A nearby floating security droid beeped threateningly at him, and the Gamorrean quickly sheathed his new blade, showing an uncharacteristic amount of intelligence than usual for his species.

Across the street, he saw Ruxard emerge from the door of his weapons shop.  Spotting Thelgarn, Ruxard smiled and waved.

Thelgarn gritted his teeth and waved back.  That blasted Duros was slowly but steadily putting him out of business.  He needed a big score soon; his creditors were already howling for credits and these were the sorts of people you didn’t run out on easily.  Not unless you were tired of life.

As soon as the door closed, Thelgarn let his breath out.  The stench of sweaty Gamorrean pervaded the air, irritating the merchant’s nose.  If they weren’t such good customers, he’d have barred them from his store a long time ago.  Stupid as well; always good for high margins on equipment of suspect quality.  Not a lot of repeat business, unfortunately—they had an amazing habit of both getting into battles and then dying in them.  It was their own fault, buying shoddy weapons from unscrupulous merchants like himself.

He snapped his fingers at a nearby cleaning droid.  “You know the procedure.”

“Gamorrean stench removal program,” the droid intoned, as puffs of scented air burst from its vents.

While the droid worked, Thelgarn started to make his way to the back of his store.

The door’s beep alerted him to the arrival of new customers.

“Welcome to Thelgarn’s Emporium, where our motto is ‘If you didn’t buy it at Thelgarn’s, then he’s not dead yet!’” he began automatically, until he saw that the new customer was a blue-skinned Twi’lek girl, standing at the doorway while her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the store.

Automatically, he gave her the once-over, but quickly realized she was too young.  “Get lost, kid,” he growled.  “This isn’t a clothes store.”  What was it with all these blasted Twi’lek girls today?  Was Ruxard playing some sort of game with him, misdirecting these children over here to waste his time?

But instead of retreating, the Twi’lek entered further to let a hooded figure behind her enter.

“Hey, I said—!“

This new figure lowered the hood, and Thelgarn stopped in mid-spit.

Large gray eyes took in the shop’s musty environs.  Her beautiful face was framed by shining brown hair that cascaded from the confines of her hood like a waterfall.  His annoyed irritation was quickly forgotten.

And then the sparkling radiance of her necklace caught his eye, and the image of credits blinded him.  Lust was quickly shoved aside by greed.

* * *

Thelgarn was a somewhat portly human male in his late forties.  A scraggly beard struggled to take hold on the flabby folds of his chin.  Disheveled brown hair that looked like it was used to being victimized by constant neglect and the occasional hair pull crowned his head.  Beady dark eyes set deep within folds of flesh squinted at Mission in undisguised annoyance.

But Bastila’s appearance behind her enacted a swift transformation across that annoyed face, as Mission had anticipated it would.  _So far, so good._

“Do you normally treat your customers and their servants this poorly?” Bastila asked icily, her voice dripping with indignity.

“Ah, my _dearest_ apologies, dear lady, for snapping at your servant,” the merchant said obsequiously, as he hurried over to her.  “I mistook her for a trouble maker, for which I profusely apologize!  I’ve had problems in the past with pesky shoplifters and miscreants, but rest assured, madam, your safety is assured while you are in my most humble shop!  I’ve had the latest security upgrades installed… the latest cameras, the strongest security droids, the most sensitive of sensors.”

Mission’s heart skipped a beat.  Was he telling the truth?  On the inside, this place looked like the dump it appeared to be on the outside.

“Now, how can this most humble servant of yours assist you, Lady… Lady…?”

“Aribeth,” Mission said quickly, grabbing the name out of the air.  “My Lady Aribeth of Tyr.”

“Hmmm.. I’ve never heard of that before… where is it?”

Bastila glanced at Mission.

“Never heard of Tyr?!” the Twi’lek said in feigned shock.  “My lady, obviously this merchant is an insular parochialist of the highest degree!  Perhaps that shop across the street is owned by someone of more cosmopolitan outlook.”

“Tyr!  Oh, yes, Tyr!  I misheard… I thought you said _Tyrd_.  Ha ha, yes, yes, yes.  My cousin—my cousin just came back from a visit there, in fact.  He told me it’s the most beautiful place—“

“There’s a civil war raging there right now,” Mission said, unable to resist tweaking the merchant’s nose.

“—ah, yes, well… well my cousin… he’s not the most _observant_ of people,” he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.  “Doesn’t know what’s going on right in front of his face sometimes, ha ha ha.”

“Where did he visit?”

“Um… er… I can’t recall exactly… something about a mountain--?”

“No mountains on Tyr.  It’s a very flat world.”

“—or a hill,” Thelgarn added quickly.  “It was probably a hill.  My cousin’s on the short side, you see… to him hills _are_ mountains, heh heh heh.”

“Enough small talk,” said Bastila, glaring at Mission.  “Shouldn’t you be doing something _else_ , my dear?”  Bastila smiled politely at Thelgarn.  “If you’ll excuse my servant, she needs to look through your inventory, to assess what you have and see what is appropriate for our purposes.”

The merchant had finally started to squirm, and Bastila had to go and ruin things by being all responsible!

“Most certainly,” Thelgarn said with a thinly veiled sigh of relief.  “You leave this task to your servant, my lady?”

“I have little time for the close study of weaponry,” Bastila replied diffidently, waving a hand as if batting aside an insignificant insect.  “Besides, my servant’s family have always been trusted military advisors to my family.”

Scanning carefully with her sharp eyes, the Twi’lek walked around the store.  The front of the store had various display cases filled with weapons, both long-range and melee.  She didn’t see Carth’s blaster in any of the display cases.  At the back of the store was a counter that served as the boundary between the public display area and a storage area room, where no doubt the real weapons for sale were actually stashed.  An imposing, heavily armored droid stood in front of the counter.

She walked by the droid, whose head smoothly turned to track her.  “Nice day outside, isn’t it?” she asked it.

No response, of course.  She continued on her path, surreptitiously looked for sensor pads, cameras, and the like.

Meanwhile, Bastila and Thelgarn continued their conversation.  “Your servant mentioned something about a civil war, my lady?” Thelgarn asked.

“Yes.  It is an horrific conflict, and is the reason why we are here on Manaan.  We have heard that the best mercenaries for hire in the Galaxy are on Manaan due to the Republic and Sith recruitment efforts here, and are looking to do a little recruiting ourselves for the battles still being fought back home.”

“Most wise, my lady.”

“And we need not only soldiers but also weapons.”

“Of course, of course.  Are you associated with the Sith, by any chance?”

“We are currently holding ourselves above this Republic-Sith fray… why do you ask?”

“We offer a ten percent discount to the Sith and their loyal clients.”

“Why?”

“We do a tremendous amount of business with them, and wish to continue to do so.”

“Isn’t that a risky proposition?  What if the Republic proves triumphant?”

The merchant shrugged.  “What’s one merchant to the Republic?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure that your bias would go unnoticed,” she said coldly.

“What does it matter to you, my lady?”

“It doesn’t!” Mission interrupted, hurrying back and glaring at Bastila.  _What are you doing?!_   “Please forgive my lady,” Mission said.  “Her father was a renowned debater, and sometimes she likes to argue just for the sake of it.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Well?  What is your assessment?” Bastila asked Mission.

“I didn’t see exactly what I was looking for,” Mission replied back carefully.  “Might we trouble you to see what blaster pistols you have in stock?” she asked the merchant.  “Ion and Arkhanian?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, leading them to the back of the store.

“If you’ll wait for me for a moment,” he said, passing by the droid to open the gate at the counter.  He disappeared into the room beyond the counter.

When he returned he was pushing a cart with two large metal bins full of blasters.  The bins were detachable, and he hefted them onto the counter for the two to look at.

“These are all the ion and Arkhanian blasters you have?” asked Bastila.

“Oh, no, this is only what I have in stock here.  There’s more at the warehouse!”

“How many more at your warehouse?” Mission asked.

“Thousands!  Rest assured, my lady, Thelgarn’s can easily supply all your army’s needs!  ‘From blankets to blasters, Thelgarn has got you covered!’”

Mission’s heart fell.  But surely, Carth’s blaster would be here?  The Rodian had just sold it to Thelgarn today, so surely he wouldn’t bother sending one blaster back to his warehouse?

“May I?” she asked Thelgarn, indicating the bin.

“But of course!”

She rifled through the bin, then sighed in relief as she pulled out Carth’s blaster from among the others.  She nodded imperceptibly at Bastila.

“Excellent workmanship, is it not?” Thelgarn said proudly.  “I only deal in the best.  For every weapon you see in this store, I have rejected hundreds… no, _thousands_ … of inferior ones.”  He almost spat at this point, to illustrate his utter contempt, but suddenly remembered the company he was in, and, grimacing slightly, swallowed instead.

“Very impressive quality control,” Bastila enthused, turning her full attention onto Thelgarn as Mission made a show of examining the heft and build of the blaster, gradually retreating away from the counter as she did so.

Casually, Mission glanced around, picking up the cameras she’d detected earlier.  If she was correct about their fields of view, then there should be a blind spot in the center of the display area, not too far from the front door, near a glass display case containing an assortment of shock sticks.  She started to make her way there.

“I have a reputation to uphold,” the merchant said, beaming under the attention.

“Of course, of course.  So many shopkeeps these days are only concerned with making the quick sale, and are not concerned about establishing long-term relationships with customers.”

“Long-term?”

“Yes.  For you see, I am the sort of customer who values dependability, reliability and service far more than a few paltry credits here and there.”

“My… my feelings exactly, my lady!”

“It becomes… very _personal_ to me.  And it can be a very… _rewarding_ experience, in many ways, for all involved.”

Ears perking up at Bastila’s words, Mission glanced back.

The merchant’s back was to Mission.  Bastila stood facing him, looking at him with rapt attention, her every nuance suggesting that she waited with barely restrained anticipation for his every word.  And… was that a batted eyebrow she just saw?  _Oh, this is too good to pass up so soon!_

“Rewarding… you say?”  Embarrassed at all the attention, Thelgarn looked away briefly, clearing his throat.

Bastila used the brief interruption to glare at Mission over the merchant’s shoulder.  _Quit enjoying this and get on with it!_ the sharp look in her eyes said.

Mission grinned to herself.

The door chimed, and she instinctively turned to see who was entering the shop.

A Sith apprentice walked in.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Heart racing, Mission swiftly turned to look back at Bastila.

Her back was to the door, and she was making a show of looking through the bin of Arkanian blasters on the counter.  By her side, Thelgarn was moving forward to greet his new customer.

“Welcome to Thelgarn’s,” the merchant boomed, “where our motto is, ‘The more you shoot, the more you save!’  How may I help you, good sir?”

The Sith lowered his hood, revealing a handsome young human man with curly blonde hair, a confident smirk, and cruel eyes.  An overbearing sense of self-satisfaction exuded from him, almost as palpable as the strong cologne that wafted from his body.  “I’m new to Manaan, and I’m looking for a good strong pair of boots,” he said, glancing around the shop.  His gaze touched her, then moved away in quick dismissal.  His blue eyes saw Bastila near the counter, and he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Thelgarn reached the Sith’s side in front of the door.  “Our selection of combat boots is the best in Ahto!” he crowed.  “Rest assured anyone you kick while wearing one of _my_ boots will know he’s been kicked, for however long the miserable slime rat has left to live!”

“Wonderful,” the Sith murmured, preoccupied, staring with disturbing focus on Bastila.  He left Thelgarn standing at the doorway, heading toward the counter and the Jedi.

Sighing to herself at all the sacrifices she had to make, Mission put Carth’s blaster down on the top of a nearby glass display case.  She pulled out a vial of yellow ink from one of her pockets and pulled out the stopper.  Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the distracted Sith’s path as he walked by.

They collided with spectacular results, as Mission’s ink splattered all over his gray robes right before she tumbled to the ground from the collision.

“Blasted Twi’lek runt!” he hissed, sending a kick her way.  Mission adroitly let the blow strike with enough force to satisfy his anger, but not enough to actually hurt her in any significant way.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” she gasped from the floor, scrabbling over on her hands and knees to approach him.  “Please, let me help—oops!”

More ink ‘accidentally’ spilled onto his shoes.

“Damn cur!” he screamed, his face red with rage.  “If it weren’t for the Selkath—!“ he hissed darkly, ominously.  Looking down at the sickly yellow stains, he threw one last, dark glare at the Twi’lek, then turned to leave the store.

“What kind of _man_ kicks a helpless child on the ground?!”

Mission’s relief instantly turned to dread at Bastila’s biting insult.  Disbelief in her eyes, she turned to look at the furious Jedi, whose right hand was hovering over where her lightsaber was hidden under her dress.  _You just had to go and get all righteous, didn’t you?!_

She turned back in time to see the Sith wheel around, an angry sneer crawling on his tattooed face.  But that look quickly disappeared, replaced with something more… _predatory_ when he saw Bastila.

Forget Carth; the Republic and the Jedi Order will never forgive me for this!  I might as well pack my bags right now and hop onto the next ship headed Rim-ward.  They’ll never forgive me for losing Bastila!  Even if it was her own blasted fault!  I just saved you from the rancor; why did you have to go and throw yourself in front of it AGAIN?!

_Why, oh why, didn’t I ask T3 for help first?  I just know that wig would have fit him perfectly!_

“I thought I detected something _unusual_ ,” the Sith responded in an unctuous voice.  “And you are..?” he asked, stepping over Mission without even glancing down.  The Twi’lek briefly contemplated the usefulness of biting him on the ankle, but his cloying scent sank to the ground, gagging her.

“Lady Aribeth of Tyr, sir,” Thelgarn replied helpfully, scurrying from the doorway to walk by the Sith’s side.  “And that one is her servant,” he added as he walked past her.

After the two had passed, Mission scrambled to her feet.  Perhaps if she made the blaster switch fast enough, there might still be time to extract the both of them out of this mess, if Bastila didn’t do something silly again—

_Where’s Carth’s blaster?!_

She knew she’d left it atop the nearest display case, but everything around her was clear!

Glancing around, she suddenly saw it in the Sith’s hands.

_No!_   He must have absent-mindedly picked it up when he’d passed by.  She hurried after the Sith.

Reaching the Jedi, the Sith suddenly and surprisingly bowed.  “My lady,” the Sith said, his voice suddenly smooth and liquid.  “What is a beautiful creature such as yourself doing with such clumsy children as servants?”

The dreadful tenseness in Mission’s stomach drained away. _Never underestimate the single-mindedness of the human male!_

Bastila’s furious indignation appeared to flag at his aggressive forwardness and interest.  “She—she is the daughter of an old family friend,” she replied.

“Ah, a very commendable sentiment, my lady,” he replied.

Bastila’s eyes widened as the full power of his perfume wafted over her.  “And you are..?” she asked, trying not to cough.

“Today is your lucky day, my lady.  For you have the honor of meeting Avard Jehr, Sith Appre-- _Master_ and Jedi-hunter extraordinaire.”

_Master?  And I’m a Wookiee’s uncle!_

Bastila’s eyes glittered, but she merely nodded in response.  “You say you hunt Jedi, Master Jehr?” she asked coolly.

“Yes,” he said.  “I’m currently on a very, very important hunt.”

_I bet you say that to all the girls_ , Mission thought.

“The hunt for Bastila Shan!” he declared, his chest puffing out in self-importance.

“And who, pray tell, is this Bastila Shan?” Bastila asked in a neutral voice.

Performing in front of an attractive, captive, and attentive audience, the Sith was quite loquacious.  “The most dangerous Jedi out there right now, they say.  Her ability to demoralize entire fleets has cost us many a battle, and delayed what should have been an easy victory in this war with the Republic—though all she is doing is just delaying the inevitable.  Our most powerful Lord Malak has decreed that she must be hunted down.”

“She sounds quite impressive,” Bastila replied.  “You’re very brave, to pursue such a powerful Jedi.”  Mission groaned to herself; it was like watching two mirrors reflecting off each other.  _Whose ego is being stoked more right now?_

“Not really,” he demurred.  “That’s the only ability she has that’s of any consequence.”

_I guess that answers that question!_ Mission chuckled to herself, as Bastila’s ego almost visibly deflated.  “Is that right?” the Jedi asked coldly.

“And it’s given her an _enormous_ head!” the Sith continued.  “What a prissy princess!  Arrogant, demanding, prideful, overbearing—“

_The Sith definitely have accurate intelligence reports!_   “You sound like you know her well,” Mission said, as the Jedi’s eyes glittered dangerously.  She tried to catch Bastila’s eyes with her own. _Don’t do anything stupid, Bas; he’s just a fool!_ She found her lekku moving slightly, instinctively trying to communicate the message secretly to the Jedi, but it was pointless as most non-Twi’leks could not decipher the subtle movements.

“Oh, yes, I know her quite well.  I cornered her on Taris, not too long ago.”

“Is that so?” Basitla asked, her eyes now glowing, as she looked at him in undisguised, feigned adoration.  Apparently trying a different tack.

It worked.  “Oh, yes, my lady,” he replied, preening before her.  “I did what the others could not do: tracked her down myself and challenged her to a duel.”  He smiled indulgently.  “She was no match for _me_ , of course.  After I made short work of her, she got down on her knees and begged for mercy, pleading with me to spare her miserable life.”  He leaned in closer to Bastila, and her nose twitched at the overpowering scent.  “Personally, I think she might have fancied me.”

“But of course!” she said, covering her nose with her hand.  “Who wouldn’t?”

Subtle sarcasm wasn’t Bastila’s strong point, but luckily for the both of them, Avard was even worse at detecting it.  He puffed out so much Mission thought he would burst.

“But I don’t understand, Master Jehr—you say you are hunting for her still?” Bastila asked.

Avard blinked.  “Oh!  Ah, yes—yes—I was a fool at the time.  She was quite the beauty, I will have to admit—with a personality like that, she’d have to be!  The wretched woman cried so much that in a moment of weakness, I let her go.”  He smiled, shaking his head at his own foolishness.  “But I have learned my lesson, and this time, this time, when next I see her again, she will _not_ escape!” he declared, hard determination in his eyes.

“So is that why you are here on Manaan?” Bastila asked.  “Because she is here as well?”

The Sith’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  “This isn’t meant to be public knowledge,” he said in a low voice, “but certain—indications have led us to believe so.”

“The horrors!” Bastila whispered.  “You mean we might very well have passed her in the street on our way over here, or in a shop somewhere?”

“Indeed,” Avard said knowingly, nodding his head.  “But if the rumors are true, I shall soon unearth her,” he added confidently.

“Oh, I pity the poor woman, so deluded to think that she can escape from you!” Bastila said breathlessly.

“But enough of that one,” he said magnanimously.  “Let’s discuss you.”

“Me?”

“Do not try to hide your feelings, my lady,” he said, smiling knowingly.  “I can see it in your eyes.  You find me just as attractive as I find you.”

“I think you are too forward, Master Jehr,” she said, chuckling slightly.

Avard’s eyes darkened briefly… obvious he wasn’t used to being rejected.  He stared deeply into Bastila’s amused gray eyes.  “You find yourself irresistibly attracted to me,” he intoned.

Bastila’s eyes glazed over.  “I—I find myself irresistibly attracted to you,” she repeated hesitantly.

_Uh-oh!_

Thelgarn had been fidgeting during the entire conversation, and now cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Yes, what is it?” the Sith growled, irritated at the interruption, turning to face the merchant.  Across Avard’s shoulder, Bastila winked at Mission.  She let out a sigh of relief.

The merchant pointed at a sign on the wall, which read, “Persuasion Is NOT Allowed on The Premises – The Management”

“Does that sign actually work?” Mission asked him.

“You’re sorry; you made a mistake,” Avard told the merchant, staring deeply into his eyes.  “I wasn’t using Persuade.”

“I’m—I’m sorry; I made a mistake.  You weren’t using Persuade,” Thelgarn repeated dully.

Smirking, the Sith put Carth’s blaster into the merchant’s hand, then turned back to the suddenly vacant-eyed Bastila.

Thelgarn’s eyes cleared, and he looked at Mission.  “It’s the strangest thing—every time I think I’ve caught someone using it; it turns out they weren’t!”

“What are the odds?” she said, shaking her head in disbelief and sympathy.  “Can I look at that Arkanian blaster?”

Still under the lingering cloud of Avard’s spell, he silently handed the blaster over to her.

“Now that that’s settled,” Avard said to Bastila, “I really do need to attend to these ink stains, before tending to other business.  Let us meet again after this, most beautiful lady.  Where are you residing?”

“Residing?  I—uh—“

“I’ll handle this, my lady,” Mission said.  “We are off-worlders,” she explained to Avard, as she pulled out a datapad and beamed the information to Avard’s own datapad.  “My lady has a most busy schedule today; would tomorrow noon be okay with you?”

“Tomorrow noon?!” he asked indignantly.

“I need to make— _preparations_ ,” Bastila explained in a low voice, her eyes full of promise.  Mission suppressed a quite inappropriate giggle.

Avard blanched, swallowing.  “Yes, yes,” he replied quickly.

“Very good,” Mission said crisply, as the information transfer finished.  The intersection of Tarnes and Polemas avenues—directly in the middle of the Ahto open-air fish market at high noon, the hottest, smelliest time of the day.  Though given the cloud of perfume the Sith was constantly travelling in, he might not even notice.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sir?” Thelgarn asked, as Avard moved to go.  “The combat boots--?”

“Some other time, merchant,” he replied curtly.

As Avard was _finally_ about to leave, the door chimed and three human females entered, all in the severe gray-black attire of Sith junior officers.

Mission cursed silently to herself.  _What is this, quitting time at the Sith Embassy?_

“Welcome, ladies, to Thelgarn’s Emporium!” Thelgarn called out.  “Remember:  small prices, big explosions!”

The newcomers completely ignored the merchant, focusing instead on the Sith apprentice approaching them.  “Fancy meeting _you_ here, Avard,” the redhead in the trio breathed, eyelashes fluttering as she blocked Avard’s path.  “What a coincidence!”

“Mina,” he replied curtly, walking around her with barely a glance at the considerable charms on display, before leaving out the door.

A blessing to be ignored by the likes of him, Mission would have thought.  But apparently these girls felt otherwise.  The blonde-haired Sith officer sniggered as Mina’s expression turned dark at the disinterest.  The rejected redhead and her companions quickly figured out who was to blame, their glares casting daggers into Bastila’s back.

“A street walker and a Twi’lek punk?” Mina, who must have been the leader of the pack, said as the trio entered the store.  “Really, Thelgarn, your clientele has taken a decided turn for the worse.  Or did your maintenance droid forget to take the trash out this morning?”

_No hidden knives or subtlety with these girls, is there?_

“What manner of repugnant beasts are _these_?” Bastila asked Thelgarn, of course doing her part to make things worse.

“Ah, my lady…” began the merchant.

“Oooh, ‘my lady’!” snorted the brunette in the group.

The blonde shoved Mission aside.  “And this Twi’lek chit must be her love child.”

_Chit?  Of all the nerve--!_

Suddenly, Carth’s blaster was snatched out of Mission’s hands by the passing Mina.

“Hey!”

Pain flashed through Mission’s head as the Sith pinched one of her lekku.  “Run along home and play with your dolls, girl,” Mina hissed, ignoring Mission’s cry.  “Shopkeep!  I’ve decided I’d like to purchase this.”

“Get lost, Twi’lek,” the blonde said, giving her a push toward the door.

The Sith officers gathered around Bastila, crowding Thelgarn out of the way.

“What’s a cheap tart like you doing with a necklace like that?” the brunette asked, her envious eyes zeroed in on those radiantly sparkling jewels.

“She must have one rich daddy,” snorted the blonde.

“Listen here, ‘lady,’” Mina snarled in Bastila’s face.  “Arvard is _mine_!  You lay one limp, perfumed hand on him, I’ll cut it off, Selkath be damned.”

“Of all the nerve!” Bastila gasped, her nose turned up, as the Sith officers pressed in on her.  “You’re quite welcome to that piece of filth; you two truly deserve each other!”

“Filth?!  I’ll show you filth, you--!”

“Ladies, ladies, please!” pleaded Thelgarn, hovering nearby, his hands wringing.

This is getting ridiculous!  What is this, a Sith singles bar?  I’d better do something before Darth Malak himself shows up!

Mission leaped into the fray, squeezing through the encircling Sith officers to stand between Mina and Bastila.  “What happened, did a core slug crawl into your mouth and die or do you always smell that way when you talk?”

“ _What?!_ ” the redhead screeched.

“Oooh, the little gizka fights back,” laughed one of Mina’s companions.

“You heard me, rancor-face!  And I’ve seen Sand People with better fashion sense than you!”  She made a show of looking Mina over.  “Seriously, you’ve somehow managed to screw up _black_!”

As Mission was hoping for when she’d provoked Mina, someone shoved her into the counter, where the bin of Arkanian blasters was sitting.

She bumped into it, spilling its contents onto Mina.  The avalanche of blasters knocked Carth’s blaster out of her hand and onto the floor.

“My inventory!” Thelgarn cried in dismay.  By his side, the security droid slowly whirred into action.

Mission quickly knelt amongst the pile of blasters, dropping her own Arkanian blaster from a pouch into the jumbled mess.  _I don’t have a lot of time; where is Carth’s blaster?_

Mina was down on the floor, searching as well, and gave her a shove as she sifted through the pile of blasters.

Suddenly Bastila knelt beside Mission, her hands gripping an arm painfully tightly.

“What are you doing, you clumsy fool!” she hissed.

She glanced at Bastila, panic in her eyes.  _I can’t find that blaster!_

There was something in Bastila’s eyes... reassurance?

“I’m—I’m sorry, my lady,” Mission said, hoping she was reading the Jedi correctly.  She picked up a blaster at random.

“Give me that!” snarled Mina, pushing her way between them to grab the blaster.

Just then, the door chimed and a Selkath patrol officer walked in.  Coincidence or not, that cooled the heated atmosphere down immediately.

Bastila stood, pulling Mission up as she did so.  “My apologies for the rude behavior of my servant,” she said to the Sith officer.  “She will be reprimanded.”

“Yeah, well she’d better be,” Mina huffed, standing up and putting the blaster on the counter, “or you’ll be looking for new help!”

On his hands and knees, Thelgarn was busy putting blasters back into the bin.  “…twenty-three, twenty-four… good, they’re all here!”

* * *

Bastila stood to the side, stone-faced, while the Sith officers transacted their business with Thelgarn.  The Jedi stoically suffered their silent enmity.  Mission got her fair share of hate as well, and decided she’d better watch herself out on the streets later in case she should have the misfortune of bumping into this particular coven again.

Bastila moved after the Sith officers and the Selkath departed.  “Come, servant,” she said.  “Let us be quit of this place.”

Thelgarn jumped.  “But, my lady, what of our business?”

“I do not wish to remain any longer in this establishment,” Bastila said disdainfully.  “My servant and I have been insulted by those—those thuggish Sith, and that dishonor had poisoned the atmosphere here.”

“But—but my lady!  I hardly have control over who walks into my shop!” Thelgarn blubbered, scurrying around the counter to be by her side.

“Your clientele is a reflection on you, merchant.  And that is a very poor reflection, indeed.  Come, servant, we are wasting time!”

“Please, my lady!  Reconsider!” he pleaded.  “I—I’m willing to extend very favorable terms to compensate you for all the harm that has befallen you here!”

“Is that so?” asked Mission.  “What are we talking about here?”

He glanced between the two.  “Uh—I’m willing to defer payment until delivery.”

“No downpayment?” pressed Mission.

Thelgarn visibly blanched.  “No downpayment,” he repeated, a pained look on his face.

_Hmmm_.  Wheels churned inside Mission’s head.  “My lady, I think we should reconsider,” she said.

Bastila arched an inquiring eyebrow at her.

* * *

The last piece of business transacted, the two finally emerged out of the dim shop and back into the bright sunlight of the streets.

Once out of sight of Thelgarn’s store, the two ducked into a side alley.  Mission started giggling uncontrollably.

Bastila’s eyes flashed, misunderstanding.  “You did that on purpose!”

Mission stifled the laughter in sudden surprise.  “What?”

“You did that on purpose, to make me humiliate myself in front of those—those—!“

“Oh, right!” Mission replied sarcastically.  “I lost Carth’s blaster, then talked to all my Sith friends and asked them to come over for the express purpose of embarrassing _you_!  The whole Galaxy does not revolve around you, Bastila!”

The Jedi’s lips tightened.

“Look, Bastila,” Mission said more calmly, wondering exactly when Bastila had usurped the role of moody teenager from her, “I was not laughing at you.”  _Much_.  “In fact, I think you did a wonderful job.  I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The hard look on Bastila’s face softened.

“And you have to admit—that was _funny_ ,” she continued, the giggles coming back.  “I almost— _almost_ —feel sorry for those girls, if _Avard_ is considered quite the catch!  Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel—the Sith must be getting desperate if _he’s_ a member.  Oh, come _on_!  I know you enjoyed that!  Save the ‘prim and proper’ act for the others.”

“Well—well, I _do_ have to admit that tweaking the nose of that Sith ‘Master’ was quite—refreshing,” she said (primly and properly).  “Using the Force to try and attract women!  Reprehensible!”

“Atrocious,” echoed Mission.  “A crime against the entire Galaxy.”

Bastila ignored the sarcasm.  “I know the Sith are a corrupt perversion of everything we Jedi stand for—but using such a gift for such—such _trivial_ purposes--!”

“You’d prefer it if he was using the Force to rape and pillage like all his fellows?”

“Well of course not!  It’s just—well, it’s just _wrong_!  Anyway, I hope he stews tomorrow when he finds no one waiting for him—where did you send him, anyway?”

“Funny you should mention stewing… your amorous lover will be waiting for you at the fish market.”

“You didn’t!” she exclaimed, her lips trembling, her eyes dancing.

“I know.  Cruel, isn’t it?  Haven’t those poor fish suffered enough already?”

The Jedi was working hard not to laugh.

“And as an added bonus,” Mission continued, “I’m sure Mina will ‘accidentally’ show up there as well.”  Her voice lowered.  “’Fancy meeting _you_ here, Avard,’” she said breathlessly, then giggled.  “Who knows?  Maybe they’ll finally hit it off, and look back someday and say, ‘Remember how we finally met in the Ahto fish market?  Let’s go back there every year and celebrate, and take in the romantic stink of decomposing fish.’”

“You really are incorrigible, Mission,” Bastila said, with what sounded suspiciously like warmth in her voice.

_Good enough—I’ll get through to you someday, despite yourself!_

“Now, where did you have all those blasters shipped to?” Bastila asked.

Mission started giggling again, handing Bastila a small card.

The Jedi read it out loud.  “Avard Jehr, Sith Apprentice, 7561 East Choran, Ahto City.”

“I lifted this from our Sith ‘Master’ when I bumped into him,” she explained.  “I sure hope he has the ten thousand credits Thelgarn’s delivery thugs will be looking for.”

A most uncharacteristic mirth danced in Bastila’s eyes.

“My turn,” Mission said.  “Where’s Carth’s blaster?”

Bastila looked around to make sure they were alone.  Satisfied, she hiked up her skirts.  There, strapped on her thigh next to her lightsaber, was Carth’s blaster.

Mission blamed an embarrassing excess of possibilities for her failure to translate thoughts into words fast enough.

“Shush!” Bastila said, placing a finger over Mission’s lips.  “You’re too young to say that.”  She unstrapped the blaster, then handed it over handle first to Mission.  “I saw it on the floor when you pulled that stunt, and knelt atop it and picked it up underneath my skirts,” she explained.  “Now let us never speak of this again.”

* * *

The others arrived late in the evening, exhausted after their undersea expedition.

Mission found Carth alone in the midship, checking status reports from the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s monitoring systems.

“So, how’d it go, Carth?” she asked.

He looked up from the viewscreen he’d been examining.  “Hey, Mission.  It went okay, I guess. We’ll be back at it bright and early tomorrow.  There were a few doors we couldn’t get past—I think Enosh will be asking for your help tomorrow.”

“I told him.  I told him he’d need me down there.  And what was he thinking, taking Big Z down there without me?  The big guy gets claustrophobic; he needs me to reassure him that he won’t get squashed.”

He smiled.  “Yeah, you were right.  So what’s up?  How’d things go back here?  Did being cooped up in here with Bastila drive you crazy?”

“No.  You know, underneath all the general huffiness and uptightness—well, there’s another layer, and another, and another—but underneath all that, she’s not half bad.  Sometimes.  Occasionally.  Especially if she’s quiet.  And asleep.”

“Hey, I wasn’t attacking her,” he said, a smile on his lips, holding up his hands in denial.  “Besides, you’re the one who smeared her lipstick all over her face that one time while she was meditating.”

“Hey, that was an accident!  I was just curious to see if she breathed while she was meditating!  And I’ll thank you to keep that particular experiment a secret.”

Almost as if by magic, a side door opened and Bastila emerged.

Mission shared a mischievous glance with Carth.

“Hey, Bastila,” Carth greeted the Jedi.  “Looking for Enosh?  He’s—“

“Yes, I’m well aware of where Enosh is,” she replied testily.  “Why does everyone always assume I’m looking for him all the time?  You’d think he’s the only person I ever talk to on this ship.”

_Not too far off the truth, there_ , Mission thought, trading an amused glance with Carth.  “So, anyway,” she said to him, “I wanted to show you something.”

“What?”

“Surprise!” she said, pulling out his blaster from behind her back.

His brow crinkled in puzzlement.  “What do you mean, ‘surprise’?  That’s my blaster, which raises the question—what’s it doing outside of my locker?”

“Locker?” asked Bastila.  “Mission, you _picked_ Carth’s locker?!”

“Picked?  Bas, why do you always assume the worst of me?  Who said it was locked?”

“Actually, it _was_ locked,” Carth said.

“And isn’t Enosh always saying, ‘We’re all in this together’?  Where did all this distrust come from suddenly?  Anyway, before we were so rudely side-tracked, _Bastila_ —do you notice anything different about your blaster, Carth?”

“It looks like someone gave it a real nice polish job.  Mission, you didn’t have to—“

“Is there something wrong with your eyes or something?  How do you manage to see anything to shoot it?”  She tossed the blaster over to him.

“A new scope?!”

“Surprise!  I got tired of hearing you complaining all the time about needing to upgrade,” she grinned.

He laughed.  “Hey, I’ve got this jacket that has a hole in it—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Who do you think I am, the maid?  Go ask T3; I’m sure he has a sewing appendage somewhere.”

Carth laughed.  “Thanks, Mission!  That was very thoughtful of you, kid.”

“You’re welcome, pops,” she smiled back.

Bastila cleared her throat.

“Um… yes?” Carth asked.  “Did you want something, Bastila?”

“I—I helped too,” she said.

“You—you did?”

“It’s true,” Mission affirmed to Carth’s puzzled look her way.

“And _why_ exactly is it so hard to believe that, Carth Onasi?” the Jedi asked acerbically.

“I think you just answered your own question, Bastila,” Carth grinned at her.  “But thanks, all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, slightly mollified.

“Well, you must be tired after your long trip, Carth, so I’ll just leave you alone now,” Mission said, yawning.

Bastila grabbed Mission by the arm as she was about to walk away.  “Didn’t you forget to mention one thing, Mission dear?”

“Let’s see—new scope, polish job.  Nope, I think I covered everything there, but thanks for the reminder.  Good night, Carth.”

“Good ni—“

“Think harder, Mission.  Or do you want _me_ to try and recall?”

“Fine, fine!  You Jedi and your silly promises!”  She took a deep breath.  “So, the thing is, Carth, between me finding your blaster and getting the scope put on, I managed to, um, lose it temporarily.”

“Lose it?  You mean here on the _Ebon Hawk_?”

“Maybe—?“, she said hopefully, looking at Bastila.

“Mission!”

“—or  maybe I lost it in a Pazaak game outside,” she finished in a resigned voice.

“ _What?!_ ”

“It wasn’t my fault that blaster looks just like another I was going to sell and whose fault is that not cleaning their blaster once in a while only I put the wrong one in the pot and I lost to this Rodian kid but I didn’t think I was going to lose he was so young!”

Carth paused to parse the torrent of words from Mission.  “Mission, this is a family heirloom!  It has been handed down from father to son for _generations_!”

“I’m really sorry, Carth!  I—I didn’t mean to!  I was just trying to surprise you!”

“Surprise?!  Surprise?!  Since when did ‘surprise’ mean gambling away your friend’s possessions on a—on a whim?!”

“I know,” she said, her eyes downcast, trying to dig a hole in the steel deck with the tip of her shoe.  Carth was generally a pretty easy-going guy, but once he got started on something... _Ugh... this could take a while..._

“Worse than a whim!  A card game!  A silly card game, for a few credits--!”

“Carth, please,” Bastila interrupted.  “She’s apologized for her indiscretion already.  There is no need to berate the child further.”

“No need?!  No need?!  I can’t believe that _you_ , of all people, are saying that!”

“Oh?  And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Mission’s eyes had been staring steadily at the floor, but she ventured to look up now.  _Leave it to Bastila to get into an argument!  It’s only fair; she got me into this mess in the first place!_

Carth was looking at Bastila, weary exasperation plain in the way his eyes glared at her.

For her part, the Jedi’s face had settled into grim determination, the look Mission had seen so much of already that she had a special name for it--My Stern Disapproval Is Enough To Save The Universe (And I Will Ignore All Past Evidence To The Contrary).

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes, please.”  I Can Wait It Out Longer Than You Can.  “I want to hear every last detail, Carth Onasi.”

_Full name?  Ouch, this promises to be quite excruciating._   If Mission hadn’t been in trouble, she’d have settled down in a chair for the entertainment that would be forthcoming.

_But perhaps another time_.  Escape was beckoning; she probably had at least another half hour before they settled down long enough to remember what had started things off in the first place, and by then perhaps she’d be safely asleep.

But even as she stealthily began to back away, something quite unexpected happened.  She felt a tugging at her heart, a gnawing, annoying sensation tapping at her like some far off kath hound howling in the night just as you’ve finally gotten drowsy enough to fall asleep...

_Guilt?  Guilt?!  You’ve got to be kidding me!_

But identifying it made it coalesce within her, and she couldn’t ignore it, much as she tried to.  _She did help me get that blaster back, and I suppose I did agree to do this silly confession, so..._

She sighed.  _What would these people do without me?_

“Hey, guys, are we losing our focus here?”

The angry glares the two had trained on one another whipped around to bore holes into her.

She yawned nonchalantly in the teeth of their stares.  _All that I have to do, and what thanks do I get?_  “I’m just saying, because it’s getting late for me...”

“Mission!”

“I'm not done yet!”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I promise not to open your locker again without your permission, no more bedtime stories for you, you’re grounded!  It’s off to bed without supper, young lady!!” she said stiffly, wagging a finger energetically at her imaginary, rascally self.

Bastila hid her grin as the fire of Carth’s anger struggled to stay lit.

“Don’t think you can kid your way out of this,” he said grudgingly, finally.

“I apologize profusely, it won’t happen again,” she said, turning as serious as she could manage, staring into his eyes.  “I promise.”

“Yeah, well... you have to be more careful, Mission.”

“I will.”

He sighed. “Okay, Mission.  That’s okay.  And it _was_ a nice thing to think of... thanks again for the scope.”

“And to think, you were going to cover the whole thing up,” Bastila said, with her usual sense of perfect timing.

Mission glared at her.  Any lingering sense of thanks she may have felt toward the Jedi dissipated, as I'm Going To Lecture You For A While made yet another appearance.

“Don’t you feel better, now that you aren’t hiding the truth?”

It would be so much easier to hate her right now, if she was acting smug or self-satisfied, but she just looked at Mission with pride.  _Pride!  For telling a truth that really didn’t need to be told!_

“ _No!_ ”

“How did you get it back?” Carth asked.

“Oh, that Rodian fenced it to a weapons merchant.  Bas and I pretended we were a noble lady and her servant interested in buying some weapons, and made the switch under the merchant’s nose.  Say, that actually is an interesting story in itself.”

“It is?”

Bastila suddenly blanched.  “Uh, I didn’t mean—“

“Let’s see,” Mission said.  “We had a couple of guys drooling all over Bas, three very jealous girls, and _wait_ until you hear how we snuck your blaster out of there.”

A smile appeared on Carth’s lips.  “Drooling, you say?”

“She—she’s exaggerating,” laughed Bastila nervously.  “How we got that blaster out of there is _not_ germane to the discussion, not in the _slightest_.  And they—they were not _drooling_ all over me!”

“She’s right,” admitted Mission.  “Quite the opposite, in fact.  She was drooling all over them.”

“Yes—No!  No!  No, I was just trying to flirt with them—I mean, I wasn’t _trying_ , I _was_ flirting—I mean, they misconstrued my actions as showing interest, which—which, of course, is _patently_ ludicrous, since I’m only interested in—no one!  Interested in no one!”

“Wait, wait, before you tell me any more, let me get the others,” Carth said, leaving with a chuckle.  “Hey, Jolee!  Enosh!  You’ll never guess what happened while we were out—!“

“No—Carth—wait—!“ Bastila took a few steps after him down the corridor.

“You’re right, Bastila,” Mission said, her eyes as wide-eyed and innocent as she could make them, as the red-faced Jedi turned to look at her.  “Telling the truth is the _best_!  Already, I feel a _whole_ lot better!  How about you?”

Bastila’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she struggled to find words.  She was caught somewhere between embarrassment, anger, and dismay.

But in the blink of an eye, the confusion suddenly disappeared, transforming into something decidedly different.  The eyes cleared, and the hint of a smile touched her lips.

_Uh-oh._

“Hey, Enosh!” she called out, her eyes not leaving Mission’s face.  “Are our funds running low?”

_Uh-oh!_

“Because Mission found the most _interesting_ thing in Davik Kang’s mansion, back on Taris—“ she continued, leaving down the same corridor Carth had taken.

“Uh, Bastila?  I think this would count as falling to the Dark Side!  And I’ve heard that does _terrible_ things to your complexion!  And you wouldn’t want _that_ to happen, now would you, Bas?  Bas?!”

 

THE END


End file.
